


Loving Him is Red and Present Tense

by charleybradburies



Series: Soulmates in Burning Red [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Denial of Feelings, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fake Marriage, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Morning After, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, References to Canon, References to Drugs, Sleepy Cuddles, Team as Family, Undercover, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony and Ziva are married*. </p>
<p>*Sort of.</p>
<p>Originally posted on Tumblr <a href="http://fiftyshadesoffiction.tumblr.com/post/93257929807/loving-him-is-red-and-present-tense-a-tiva-au">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving Him is Red and Present Tense

_**Tuesday, ~0630** _

The alarm goes off, as it was intended to, at 0630, and both Tony and Ziva groan themselves awake, although Ziva, the more aggressive, reaches for her gun which she presumes to be on the nightstand to her left. 

“It’s not there. You didn’t even take it out earlier,” Tony informs her grumpily as he hits the switch on the alarm. He leans over and kisses her on the cheek. 

“I didn’t?”

“It’s not like you need it, Ziva.”

“I always sleep with my gun.”

“You were distracted.”

“You were distracting me,” she grumbles, pulling him in closer.

“Yes, I was,” he says proudly, and though she smacks him gently he leans in for a kiss.

“You don’t have to get up, you know. You only got four hours of sleep, and Gibbs doesn’t expect you back until tomorrow.”

“You got no more sleep than I! Besides, Tony, I will feel more productive at work; and I have already had my Shiva,” she declares, sitting up in bed. Tony momentarily is lost in how simply beautiful she looks; her hair, no longer straight as it had been the night before, cascades down to her shoulders, made lighter by the sun coming in from the window. The sheet she’s pulled up in front of herself, taut against her chest, is all that covers her, and the sparkling Star of David atop the curve between her breasts is all she’s been wearing for hours - and to be perfectly honest, for all the stunning dresses and slim-fitting suits he’s seen her in, this is her best look so far. 

“Stay,” he demands quietly, cupping one of her hands in his. The sheet falls off of her a moment later, but it takes surprisingly little effort to maintain eye contact, and he bestows a gentle kiss on her hand. 

“Please,” he gulps, and realises that he’s asking a lot more of her than he’s able to vocalise. 

“Bring home dinner, okay?” she says reticently after a couple of moments. 

“Italian?” he asks, and she chuckles.

“Perhaps. I will decide later. For now-“

“You should get some more sleep,” he says declaratively, affectionately kissing her forehead. She closes her eyes contentedly until he pulls away, then fiercely pushes her lips against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning backwards so they both collapse back down on the bed. She holds him tightly enough that his body stays pressed against hers.

“Work doesn’t start until nine, and I can’t imagine it takes you longer than half an hour to get from here to the Navy Yard…” she murmurs, running one hand down his chest and abdomen.

“I usually take a shower and get breakfast before heading in. I suppose you have another suggestion as to how I could spend that time?”

“A better suggestion, yes,” she states. 

“Well, then,” he chuckles, kissing her neck and wrapping one of his arms around her stomach. She reaches for his erection, but he grabs her by the wrists and pulls her arms up above her head, scooting further down on his bed and leaning into her pelvis. She purses her lips, and her eyes roll back in her head as his tongue glides against her clit. 

_**Tuesday, ~0910** _

“You’re late,” remarks Tim as Tony struts over to the bullpen. “And you smell like perfume.”

“Your point, McGee?” replies Tony as he drops his backpack to the floor and sits down.

“You’re dating again, aren’t you?”

“No, Tim, I am not. Just because a woman comes to my apartment doesn’t mean we’re sleeping with each other.”

Tim looks at him sceptically.

“Sure hope you’re not,” says Gibbs, and Tim and Tony, both caught off guard, turn to look at him. “Got a rule against that.”

“Boss, how-”

“I bought her that perfume, DiNozzo.”

“Wait, Ziva?” Tim exclaims, and Tony gives him an exasperated look.

“Yes, Tim, Ziva was at my place last night. I picked her up from the airport. Is that a problem?”

“Didn’t her flight come in at like, midnight?”

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but Gibbs interrupts him.

“Got two bodies at Norfolk,” he says, heading abruptly towards the elevator, and the pair quickly grabs their gear and follows.

_**Tuesday, ~1030** _

“So, how was Israel?” coos Abby after accepting Ziva’s video call, then looks up to the screen to find Ziva not visible. “Wait, where’d you go?”

“Sorry, I was putting on some clothes. I just got out of the shower,” Ziva apologises, but when she looks at Abby through the screen, she sees that Abby seems distracted.

“Who’re you sleeping with, Z?”

“What?”

“That’s so not your apartment.”

“No, it’s-“

“It’s mine,” Tony interjects as he walks into the lab, and Abby looks at him quizzically. “I picked her up from the airport.”

Abby’s inquisitiveness doesn’t entirely recede, but she stands down and changes the subject. 

“The DNA confirms the husband and wife theory. Ducky thinks homicide-suicide.”

“And you don’t?”

“Hey, you’re the one who says it’s always the wife! But in this case, as much as it looks like it, I don’t think so. I mean, what happy-go-lucky trophy wife just snaps on her Marine husband like this? Not to mention that the suicide makes no sense either.”

“Perhaps she was a spy,” Ziva offers, rubbing her hair with a towel. 

“The wife was a spy?” Gibbs asks, strutting in. 

“We don’t know. We’re just contemplating her potential motive,” answers Abby, and he nods then waves to her computer screen.

“Hey, Ziver.”

“Hello, Gibbs.”

“That Tony’s place?”

“I told you she was there, boss,” says Tony.

“Didn’t say she was staying there.”

“I came in late. I was catching up on sleep,” declares Ziva.

“You picked her up, though? So you got just as much sleep,” says Abby, looking at Tony expectantly.

“Well, I couldn’t just stay home. You know how suspicious that would look,” he replies, mostly to Gibbs, who is also staring at him.

“Yeah, DiNozzo. About as suspicious as leaving her at your place and coming in to work smelling like her perfume,” Gibbs says declaratively, walking back out of the room.

“Are you coming back to work tomorrow?” Abby asks Ziva after Gibbs steps in the elevator.

“That is the plan, yes. I can’t imagine I would not.”

“Yes!” Abby exclaims excitedly, then notices that both Tony and Ziva are stifling laughter.

“What? I missed you!”

“I have been gone barely a week, Abigail!”

“So? You’re like, my bestest friend!”

Ziva smiles brightly.

“Likewise, Abby.”

“Hey!” shouts Tony, feigning offence. 

“Excuse you,” says Abby, pointing at him. “But your relationship with Ziva is…undefined. Mine, however, is not. Plus, we’re both women. Therefore, I’m the best friend.” 

Tony scoffs.

“Fine, then. I see how it is, and I claim McGee as mine.”

“As your what?” asks Tim hesitantly as he peeks into the room.

“Best man. Friend. Best friend. Best man friend,” Tony stutters, and Ziva and Abby giggle. Tim shrugs in understanding. 

“Vance says to get Ziva in today. He wants you two undercover.”

“What?” enquires Ziva. 

“Oh, hi, Ziva. How was Israel?”

“Warm…why does Vance want Tony and I to go undercover?”

“The victims just bought a new house. He wants you two to take their place, check out the neighborhood.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s more to this than we think there is,” Gibbs says, stepping back into the lab. “They’re buying and selling something, and I need you to get in on that.”

“Great,” Tony grumbles, but leans forward so that Ziva can see him in the screen. “I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’ll put on something less comfortable,” she replies, and as she stands up to stretch he sees that she’s pulled on one of his Ohio State sweatshirts. It’s large on him, and even larger on her, and he can tell that it and panties are all in which she’s clad.

“See you in a few,” she says. “I’ll come see you when I get there, Abby.” 

She exits the video chat, but it takes Tony a few seconds - and a gentle smack from Abby - to look away from the screen.

_**Tuesday, ~1400** _

“Remember last time we went undercover as a married couple?” Tony muses, walking up behind Ziva and wrapping his arms around her stomach.

“If you call me sweetcheeks again, I will kill you,” she says, raising the knife with which she’s cutting up tomatoes and turning around to glare at him.

“No, you won’t,” he says, starting to lean into her.

“Tony,” she murmurs cautiously, but there’s a glossiness in her eyes as they meet his, and she kisses him anyway.

“Jesus Christ, David,” they hear Gibbs say through his microphone, and break apart worriedly. “How did you already spend over a hundred dollars?

“You told me to go to the grocery, Gibbs. I’m a suburban housewife who just purchased a reasonable amount of food and wine for my husband and I,” she defends. “And a couple of magazines, not to mention a couple of things to add…personality to this house. In order not to seem suspicious I must blend in, no?” 

Gibbs sighs.

“DiNozzo?”

“Yeah?”

“This is the moment you start being happy you’re not actually married to her.”

“Copy that, boss. Although…that throw pillow with the embroidered cat is pretty cute.” 

He winks at Ziva.

“I’m going to go hang up those other suits I brought.”

“Oh, I already took care of it,” says Ziva, stopping him before he reaches the staircase. “You can help cook dinner, though, if you’d like.”

Tony smiles.

“Look at you. This proves it. I always knew you were the type.”

“I am many things, Tony. A type? Not one of them.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the type who likes to hang up her man’s clothes for the night.”

“When I have a man, the favors I offer have little to do with clothes.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

“You two do know we can hear you, right?” Tim interrupts annoyedly. 

“Yes,” they both answer, with a grunt and a communicative gaze.

The doorbell rings, and both Tony and Ziva move to answer it.

"Whoa, my ninja," Tony says as Ziva instinctually reaches for her gun. She scrunches her nose at him, but relaxes her posture before peeking through the peephole and then opening the door.

"Hello!" the blonde outside says cheerily. "You must be Mark and Dorothy!"

"Indeed we are. You can call me Dolly," says Ziva, extending her hand to the other woman, who then introduces herself as Trisha. Tony drapes his left arm around Ziva’s backside, and tries not to be surprised at how natural the gesture feels.

"Sorry I'm empty handed; my younger boys and I tried making some welcome-to-the-block brownies, but my eldest decided to put marijuana in them, so my sister is making cupcakes instead. I'll bring them over tomorrow, but I still thought it best to stop by today."

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you, thank you, Trisha. Er, why don't you come in, tell us about the area? How long have you lived here?"

Ziva steps aside, letting Trisha in the door, and Tony closes and locks the door behind them.

"Oh, you don't need to lock it. No one locks their doors here. It's very safe," Trisha tells Tony, but rather than unlocking it again, he follows the women into the kitchen and picks up where Ziva left off with cutting up the tomatoes.

"He's handsome and he helps with dinner? What lottery did you win?" Trisha asks Ziva jokingly as they take seats at the dining room table, and both Ziva and Tony resist laughing as they hear McGee’s guffaw echoing in their earwigs.

"We've been here, oh, almost a decade now," Trisha answers Ziva’s earlier question. "We moved here right before our second youngest was born."

"How many children do you have?" Tony asks.

"Four. All boys."

"And two under the age of ten?”

“Yeah, they’re a handful. Do you have any?"

"Oh, no, no."

"Not at the moment," adds Ziva, giving Tony a pointed look.

"Do you plan to?”

“In time, yes,” Ziva says, chuckling nervously. 

“I’m sorry, that’s kind of personal, isn’t it?” says Trisha apologetically.

“It’s okay. My father is always lecturing me about biological clocks.”

“Really? But you’re so young!”

“I believe he’s generally referring to his own,” poses Tony, right before Trisha’s phone dings with a text.

“Ah, that’s my husband. He’s leaving work now; I ought to go start on dinner,” she says, standing up and leaning into Ziva for a gentle hug.

"It was so nice to meet you two."

"Likewise," they both reply. Tony walks her to the door, locking it after her.

“Well, she seems…friendly,” says Ziva as he comes back into the kitchen.

“That’s one way to put it,” Tony replies, reaching in the fridge and taking out a bottle of wine.

“Honey...it is four in the afternoon.”

“So? It’s happy hour somewhere, sweet…heart.”

“Do not push it,” Ziva says aggressively, although from the look on her face and the low growl of her voice, Tony places her mood somewhere between amused and aroused. She goes over to the cupboard, pulls out two wine glasses, and sets them on one of the counters in the kitchen. Tony fills them halfway and hands one to Ziva, standing next to her and wrapping one arm around her.

“To…us,” he toasts reticently, and while she hesitates, she clinks her glass against his and takes a sip of wine. 

They’re too busy staring into each other’s eyes to give much attention to Gibbs’s sighing. 

_**Tuesday, ~2330** _

With the only light in the master bedroom coming in from the hallway, it’s more difficult than usual for Tony and Ziva to see each other in the dark as they lay in the middle of the king sized bed. Tony strokes a few fallen strands of hair away from Ziva’s face, tucking them gently behind her ear, and as she reaches up with her left hand and touches his, he realises that she has also left on her alias's wedding ring. He entwines his fingers with hers, and brings his fist to his lips, kissing her ring finger right above the metal band.

“We could do this for real, you know. Someday, maybe,” he whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“This whole shebang. Marriage, kids, a house in the suburbs…”

Ziva scrunches up her nose unhappily, grumbling. 

“Not in the suburbs, no.” 

Tony laughs into his pillow. 

“That’s your objection? I practically propose, and that’s your objection?”

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just thought you’d be sassier about it.”

She teasingly punches him in the arm.

“There you go,” he says, slightly more satisfied, especially as her arm comes to rest on top of his chest. It feels comfortable, perhaps even natural, and upon realising just how accustomed she has become to sharing his bed she feels the red flush into her face. 

“Perhaps…someday, we will,” she murmurs a few minutes of silence later. 

“Hmm?” enquires Tony, seemingly having forgotten his own mutterings.

“Be married for real,” she clarifies, and Tony smiles.

“What would Gibbs think of that?” he says, and shudders jokingly.

“What would my father think?” Ziva adds.

“I’m pretty sure he’d have shot me if I’d asked.”

“Asked?” 

“You know, for your hand. Although…now, I’ll have to ask Gibbs, and he might do the same.”

Ziva laughs. 

“I certainly hope he will not.”

“Yeah…yeah, me too.”

Neither of them is quite sure what to say after that, so they allow their confessions to linger in the small space between them; Ziva rests her head against his chest, and shortly thereafter, falls asleep, but Tony remains awake for a while, gazing down at her lovingly.


End file.
